Literature
Poetry
- "A Dancer’s Prayer" by Maria Spratford
- Various poems by Ashe
- "The Irish Dancer’s Creed" by Eowyn
- "The contest lasts for moments…" Author unknown
- "The Nationals" by Irish Asia
- Various poems by Bridget DS
- Webfeis Entry ('Why do Irish dancers hold their arms down?') by Laurie
Maria Spratford
“A Dancer’s Prayer”
Dear Angel, Ever at my side.
Be there today, my feet to guide.
Help me dance high, and light, and free,
So everyone will be proud of me.
May the judges be fair and the stages be spacious.
In winning and losing, let me be gracious,
So that every dance I'll remember with pride.
And angel, please keep my shoelaces tied!
Ashe
“Mine”
Song of softshoe on floor
Beat of hardshoe on wood
Feeling of flight
Pursual of air
Flash of sight
Joy to ear
Beat of heart
Taste of glory
Touch of the immaculate...
My dance.
“Follow the Sun”
It is dusk, and all is quiet.
I sit on my back porch staring into the fire-orange clouds,
My hands in my lap,
My body still,
Watching you follow the sun.
Your body is still and cold as well, but alas
Not as mine. Mine is able.
If I wished I could still pick up the soft leather
That fits so perfectly, and be Able. I could.
But not tonight.
Tonight our shoes are still, and you’ve gone past the horizon.
And I still sit on my back porch,
Staring into the fire-orange clouds,
My hands in my lap,
My body still,
Watching you follow the sun.
Eowyn
“The Irish Dancer’s Creed”
To be strong.
To be faithful.
To be true to oneself.
To look a judge in the eye and smile.
To do your best.
To be the best.
To know you are all you can be.
To practice without complaint,
And not try--Do.
To not cry when an ankle is sprained.
To support each other when injury occurs.
To never use your arms to dance,
And stay on your toes at all times (with toes out, of course).
To not only know who you are, but what you are.
To be an Irish dancer,
In heart, mind,
Body, and spirit.
Author unknown
“The contest lasts for moments...”
The contest lasts for moments
Though the training’s taken years
It wasn’t the winning alone that was worth the work and tears.
The applause will be forgotten
The prize will be misplaced
But the long hard hours of practice
Will never be a waste
For in trying to win, you build a skill
You learn that winning depends on will
So any new challenge you’ve just begun
Put forth your best effort and you’ve already won.
Irish Asia
“The Nationals”
She stood there tall
On the champion stage;
Her new orange dress
Was all the rage.
She smiled real big,
She wore her new wig,
She pointed her toe,
And got ready to go.
Then finally the judge watched her start,
The moves she did were perfect and smart,
She leaped so high in the air,
That when you looked up all you saw was a glare.
But as she jumped she fell to the ground,
She fell so hard it made a pound,
The music stopped,
And the judge’s pen dropped.
When she had slipped,
Her dress was ripped,
She started to cry,
She wanted to die.
She tried so hard to be perfect and entertain,
But all her hard work just went down the drain
Her foot was broken,
This was no token.
Then the doctors came,
And they knew this was no game,
They then carried her off the stage,
The girl was in an outrage.
But the absolute worst part of all,
Is that this girl would have won first,
If it wasn’t for that fall.
Bridget DS
“Ireland”
A first glimpse
through the clouds
Shadows over green
And stillness above all
Waterford to the West Coast
Then gone, faded into mist
Vast ocean separating worlds
But only one heart.
“Probably Magic (Inspired by Pat Roddy)”
You float across the stage, every motion fluid and smooth as ripples in a pond,
Making the trotting of unicorns on their silver hooves seem fitful and false,
Until the music changes and you come back to earth,
Each step crisp, sharp, and powerful as if cut from glass,
Daring me to come closer, commanding the rest to stay back lest they be cut,
Holding all of us captive in our seats, mesmerized with the power of it all.
It was over before we knew it began; memories in place where sensations never were,
But whatever happened was amazing for sure
Because the rhythmic sound of your footfalls haunts me still.
Every time I hear the music, I’m brought back to where I was, where you were
And I ask myself what captured me that night that makes me feel this way.
Probably nothing. Probably magic.
Laurie
“Webfeis Entry, August 2001”
This story begins in a time long ago,
before computers, mobiles, and meals on the go,
where a family of ten kept horses and sheep,
and a howling puppy that would not let them sleep.
The youngest of all, and the fairest one too,
was blue eyed Carlotta whom everyone knew,
for she always stopped to chat with the children,
the rich and the poor, and those naughty boys even.
Quickly did Carlotta complete daily chores
For there was something which she loved to do more.
A dancer is what this girl wished to be
she loved to move about, longed to be free.
Never before had she wanted to dance,
Preferring work to play and romance,
But on her last birthday, a lesson she learned
her pretty new shoes, they made her feet burn!
So outdoors she went, and jumped all around
For these new shoes made such a nice sound.
And as she hopped and skipped all over
The wind caught her dress, exposing her knickers!
The time for tea grew nearer and nearer,
And still Carlotta danced round in the heather.
Out in the fields her mother did go
And stumbled upon her daughter’s lil show
"My darling, my baby, this dance you are doing,
It is oh so lovely, so very exciting.
And with your footwork I am very impressed,
but Carlotta my dear, hold on to your dress!"
Years have now passed, and Carlotta has gone
But her way of dancing inspired this song
For dancers now keep their hands at their side
In memory of she whose behind would not hide.